


Give, and You Will Receive

by likehandlingroses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (he's not in the fic but is super important to all characters and their relationships?), Cursed Gideon, Gen, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold as Detective Weaver, Season 7 AU, also Belle is super alive and also alluded to, give and you will receive verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: For some time, Tilly has wondered about a mysterious boy in the pictures on Weaver's mantle. Despite her constant questions, Weaver remains silent on the topic. One night, not long after Weaver is shot, he shows up in person, and it is up to Tilly to begin to mend the rift between father and son.





	Give, and You Will Receive

“Weaver? It’s me...you were right. It started to rain.”

Tilly peeked her head around every corner of Weaver’s apartment before setting her backpack on the couch and making her way to the kitchen. Perhaps someday she’d have a proper kitchen of her own, with things like a rolling spice rack and a refrigerator full of condiments she was sure Weaver had never used. Until then, she contented herself with exploring his, familiarizing herself with its contents so thoroughly that she half believed it was hers. 

This time, however, the refrigerator contained an unfamiliar glass dish covered in tin foil. Tilly pulled it out, and a note that had been sitting on top of the dish fell to the floor. The food was a gift, then. Something to make his recovery easier. 

Whoever had given it to him either knew Weaver very well or not at all, for he was particular about his food. Not many people could get his order just right, and as Tilly lifted the tin foil off of one of the corners of the dish, she knew instantly the gift-giver had gotten it wrong. It was a lasagna, which wasn’t a bad start, but Tilly could see something green inside the dish. It was no wonder Weaver hadn’t touched it. They were lucky he hadn’t thrown it out straight away. 

Tilly laughed to herself and put the dish back. If she’d made Weaver a lasagna, he’d have eaten it, and not just because she wouldn’t have tried to sneak any zucchini into hers. 

A knock on the door interrupted Tilly’s thoughts. She frowned; it wasn’t like Weaver to forget his keys, and Tilly had never seen anyone else in his apartment. As she crept towards the door, another knock came through, and then a voice. 

“Dad?”

Tilly grinned and raced over to the door’s peephole. A mystery she’d been poking at for some time seemed ready to be solved. Sure enough, there he was: the young man from the pictures on Weaver’s mantle. Over and over again, Tilly had asked about him, hoping one day to catch Weaver off guard, but he’d never said a word about the pictures. 

Now, there he was, just on the other side of the door. 

Tilly flung it wide open, and the young man stepped back in shock, nearly dropping the tupperware container in his hands. 

“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong apartment…”

“No, this is Weaver’s place,” Tilly said, and the young man looked more puzzled than ever. “He’s out just now, but he’s always back by seven.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

In her excitement, Tilly hadn’t noticed how well dressed Weaver’s son was, how out of place he looked standing next to her, with her mud caked boots and overlarge jacket. Tilly supposed he worked somewhere quite exciting--not too stuffy, she guessed, noting his lack of a tie. Probably one of those start-ups that began in an old warehouses and didn’t have any desks.

There was something intimidating about him. Closed off. He’d always looked like Weaver, in the pictures. Standing in front of him, Tilly could see the resemblance didn’t end there. But she’d made Weaver warm to her; his son would have to be easier. 

“I’m Tilly,” she answered. “I’m here because of the rain. It makes my roof make all sorts of sounds, and I can’t sleep, so Weaver lets me stay here.”

She beckoned for him to come in, and he did, though he looked quite uncertain about the whole affair. They made their way to the living room, Tilly leading the way as though the house was hers. 

“Are you...from my father’s work, or--?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” Tilly asked, looking at him pointedly. She knew what he was asking. He wasn’t the first, not by a long shot, but the allegations always made her feel small. As though no one could imagine any other reason Weaver would want her around. 

“Alexander,” he said, looking embarrassed at his own insinuations. Tilly smiled; she could tell he’d be kind, after a fashion. Just like his father. 

“Alexander,” she repeated. “It’s a good name, isn’t it? I’ve seen your pictures, but Weaver acts like you’re some sort of secret. Won’t tell me a thing about you.”

Unfortunately, it seemed as though Alexander felt the same way, for after clearing his throat he said: 

“Maybe I should come back--”

“No, please stay!” Tilly said, grabbing a hold of his arm. “He’ll be here any minute, and he’ll want to see you.”

Alexander looked down at her hand and gently shrugged it off before nodding. 

“I heard he was hurt,” he said. “I thought I’d better come. And if you say he’ll be back soon...”

Tilly sat down on the couch and tapped the cushion next to her. To her surprise, Alexander sat down, placing the tupperware on his lap. 

“Do you come around often, and I’ve just missed you?” Tilly asked, half knowing the answer. Sure enough, Alexander shook his head. 

“I’m...busy, usually,” he said. “Work. And my mother’s not well, just now. So.”

Silence again. Tilly tilted her head up to the ceiling, trying to think of another question. Her gaze fell back down to Alexander’s container. As she opened her mouth to ask what he’d brought, her eyes caught a band of silver around his ring finger. 

“Is that an engagement ring?”

Alexander’s eyes widened as he looked down at his hand. 

“I forgot I still had it on,” he said, almost to himself. Then he looked straight at Tilly, and she could see fear in his eyes. “But I’d...I’d rather we not bring it up with him.”

Tilly watched Alexander take the ring off of his finger and place it in his pocket. It seemed so terribly wrong. 

“Doesn’t Weaver like him?” she said, and now it was Alexander’s turn to look offended at her line of questioning.

“Excuse me?” 

Tilly went hot in the face. Weaver had always told her that someone would get touchy about her assuming things...she never did it when anyone else could hear, and she was nearly always right. Most people liked it, she’d found. It felt nice, sometimes, to be seen by someone who understood you. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, twisting her hands. “I didn’t...you seem quite nice, and I suppose I always think nice people are...well, like me, I suppose. Silly.” 

Alexander’s gaze softened, and Tilly thought she saw tears in his eyes. He shook them away before she could be sure, however, and smiled at her. 

“You’re not silly,” he said. “And he is...he is a him.”

There was something so beautiful about him, in that moment. Love did that to people, and it always seemed to Tilly that being gay made you shine all the brighter when you’d found someone. Or perhaps, like many things, that was just the way she saw it. 

“You’re so happy,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. This time, Alexander didn’t shrug it off. “I think...if you wanted to tell him, he’d be happy, too.”

“I haven’t even told him I’m gay,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re not close. Never have been.”

“Why not?” Tilly asked. If she’d been lucky enough to have Weaver as a father, she couldn’t imagine growing apart from him. He was rough around the edges, but once he decided he was fond of someone, they were always taken care of. Surely he was fond of Alexander. 

“First, it was my mum,” Alexander replied. Now the answers were coming. They always did, once people knew they could be understood. “She didn’t want him around, and he...my father’s easy to push away. So I never really knew him until I was eight, and he got partial custody.”

Alexander looked up at the mantle and smiled. “That time was alright, actually. He’s not a bad father. Not at all. I liked it here. But then I got older, and we were different people. He doesn’t like different. He has his way, and you’d better not disrupt it.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Weaver was particular about things, and sometimes it came across as hardness. But he was soft, too. Malleable and curious. Tilly thought most people could be anything, if you gave them the chance.  

“Maybe he’s learning,” she said. “I’m about as different as it gets, and he’s let me in, even when I make a mess of things.”

She gave a sad smile, remembering how kindly he’d spoken to her after she’d shot him. She’d never seen him be quite so gentle, so careful with his words. Just when she’d needed it the most, he’d done his best to make things safe again. 

“I know he misses you,” she said, and Alexander looked down at his tupperware. His fingers pressed against the sides so hard Tilly could see his fingernails turning white. 

“I’m sure he does. It’s like I said: he’s not a bad father. And part of it’s been my fault. I was distant first, and I know it hurt him.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Tilly said, trying to be cheery. “What’d you bring him?”

Alexander gave a sheepish smile. “Lasagna. I know it’s silly, but--”

“--any vegetables in it?”

“No, of course not!” Alexander laughed. “That’s disgusting.” 

Tilly grinned. “I’ll bet he’ll actually try yours.”


End file.
